Page 90 of My Pucking Crush

Vomit bubbles up in my throat and I shuck him away. “What?”

“A sister for a sister.”

Ivan waves a gloved hand, signaling to the men in another car. A door opens and they pull out a woman, tied up and gagged.

Samara.

FORTY-FIVE

Max

Luca has been quiet for days and staying out of my way. I don’t blame him. I’ve been an asshole since playoffs started. It may look like I maintain a rigid schedule during theregularseason, but I’m a damn cyborg now.

Extra-long workouts at dawn.

A protein-packed hot breakfast cooked by Gilda, who starts earlier than usual.

Morning skate.

An hour in the weight room.

An hour of yoga to get loose.

Home for lunch and a nap.

Reporting back to the locker room by four p.m.

There’s a sense throughout the season that a loss isn’t catastrophic. We play so many games, there’s always a chance to catch up. That perpetual optimism keeps me going.

All of that evaporates and the world shrinks in focus to seven games per playoff round. To take the Cup, we must win four of those games. Four times in a row.

Luca and I make polite conversation like he understands I need to be a different person, and to his credit, he doesn’t give me shit about my steely and hyper-focused mood.

He’s been sullen, too. He looks worried. I’ve gotten to know this man. The stress in his eyes doesn’t have anything to do with me. But what?

I can’t deny how I feel about him anymore. Every night when I slip into my bed alone, I ache for him.With his room repaired, he’s sleeping back in there. He doesn’t come to me. But I know it’s mostly because right now, I’m totally unapproachable.

It’s clear. I want him in my life. One way or another. I have a connection to him I’ve never felt. He understands me. He knows everything about me. All my secrets.

And he still wants me.

I remember what he said about my uncle. We haven’t talked about it. Maybe he’ll let it go.

If he goes through with quitting the Crushers, it opens up possibilities. No more sneaking around. He’ll be living down in Manhattan. I can make that work. Especially if everything goes my way in the postseason.

Just like the last five days, Luca shadows me throughout my daily routine. I expect a man who isn’t athletically trained to drag his ass, but he is with me one hundred percent of the way.

I’ve been running on fumes for years. It’s time to let myself have something that will fuel me. That something is Luca. What we can have together. I’ll confess when the season is over. And hope he’s still crazy about me.

IT’S EXTRA BUSY TODAY. Game day. Game One against Albany. It’s also a Friday night. Those games are always extra packed and insanely loud.

I show up to a frenzy of activity, equipment people inspecting our gear, and trainers inspectingus.

Coach seals off the team once we’re all in the dressing room for his pregame talk. Luca stands near the locked door, his eyes behind shades. He’s hot as fuck wearing a flashy suit, an earpiece, and a gun on his belt that no one sees. But I know it’s there.

“You know I’m not a super religious guy,” I say, looking around at my teammates, kneeling in a circle, suited up like battle warriors. The transformation fromhuman to machine never fails to take my breath away when we’re all in a closed space like this.

“But let’s thank God,” I continue, “or whatever higher power you believe in for getting us here. And let’s also give thanks for every breath we suck in tonight to play the game we’ve all loved since we were kids.”

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